It frigging hurts
by DukeOfDuck
Summary: Alasdair had left Paris, his love and his friends only three months ago but it already felt like an eternity. - Scotland X Nyo! France - Human AU -
1. Chapter 1

The author's rambling : Hello everybody ! Here is some Auld Alliance for you !

First, let me warn you : English is not my native language. I tried my best to not make any mistakes but do not hesitate to tell if I fucking suck and should buy a grammar book aimed for seven years old children !

This story is a bit inspired by a RP. The main character is Alasdair Kirkland (Scotland) and it's a human AU. I hope you enjoy reading it ! Next chapters will be longer, this one is more like a prologue you know.

Thanks for reading !

* * *

"Alasdair Kirkland, I will kill you !"

Alasdair burst out in laughter at the sight of his girlfriend cursing at him as she tried to get her soaked hair out of her eyes. His laugh didn't last long as an absolutely unmanly shriek escaped his lips when he felt two hands against his back, pushing him in the pool with Francine.

"Ah ! Who's laughing, now ?!"

"Gilbert, ye asshole ! Get yer ass over here so I can spank it !"

"No way, the water will wash away the sunscreen. And do you know what happens when a poor albino like me is left defenceless under the summer sun ? The same thing that happened to your back !"

The redhead frowned and pouted childishly when reminded about the freaking huge sunburn he got at the beginning of the season. He may have more resistance to the sun than his albino friend but his skin was still extremely sensible and easy to burn.

"I will have ye know that it's hard tae apply sunscreen on yer own back !"

"You should have asked for help !" Antonio giggled.

Alasdair looked daggers at the Spaniard. Of course it was easy for him to talk, his skin was already naturally tanned and he never got any sunburns !

"I know ye, I'm pretty sure ye would have drawn a dick on my back with the sunscreen and I would have ended up with a cock-shaped sunburnt, thanks but no thanks !"

"Oh my, is that really what you think about us ?"

"Of course, ye're all a bunch of assholes."

"Even me ?" cooed a voice behind him.

Two arms wrapped themselves around the Scotsman's waist and he relaxed in the embrace as he felt Francine's bust pressed against his back. The four friends met during their first year of University and lived in Paris in spite of coming from different countries. Now their third year just ended and they were enjoying the hot summer weather in Antonio's garden. He was the only one who didn't live in a tiny apartment so they always ended up here. On top of that, he had a pool, which was much appreciated during stifling hot days like today.

"Especially ye."

The blond girl laughed and pressed a kiss in the crook of his neck.

"No fucking in my pool, you two !"

"What ? Are ye afraid yer pool might get more action than ye ever did ?"

"Francine, please, drown him."

"I don't know, fucking in your pool sounds like a tempting idea."

"Gilbert !" the Spaniard cried out. "Tell them something !"

"Something."

"Fuck you !"

Laughters filled the garden once again as Antonio decided to jump in the pool to drown Alasdair himself. The redhead winced when he heard a loud ringing noise and looked around, trying to find what caused it. But none of his friends seemed to notice it. He frowned and turned his face towards Francine to ask her about it.

But she was gone.

And he woke up.

Alasdair blinked, confused as to where he was. The pictures of his dream soon faded away as he recognized his London apartment. He groaned and propped his weight up on his elbows to sit up. It seemed he fell asleep on the couch again. The annoying ringing noise was still here and his fogged emerald green eyes located its source easily. His phone was buzzing like mad on the coffee table, the screen glowing brightly as it showed who was calling.

"Franny".

This nickname started as a joke because he was unable to pronounce her name correctly. He never managed to say "Fran-" correctly and kept on saying "Frann-" instead. One thing leading to another, her official nickname ended up being Franny. A tender smile stretched his lips at the memory as he stared at his phone. He wasn't going to pick it up. He lowered the volume so it wouldn't disturb the neighbours. And waited.

Finally, the ringing stopped.

"You have one voice mail."

Alasdair ordered himself to not listen to it. But he never had been one to follow orders and reached for the phone, bringing it to his ear.

His heart clenched painfully as that sweet voice echoed through the phone.

"Hello, Alasdair... It's me again..."

She sounded so sad. He tightened his grip on the phone, trying to restrain himself from calling her.

"I hope you and Arthur are doing well. Please, call me when you have time...I love you."

A loud beep hurt his ear, informing him that it was the end of the voice mail. At the beginning, she would leave longer messages, asking why he was ignoring her calls, worrying that something went wrong. And she would send texts every so often in hope that he would text back. In the morning to wish him a good day. In the evening to wish him a good night. Telling him she loved him.

The phone rang again.

"Gil"

That was the third time since the beginning Gilbert called him. It was always right after one of Francine's call. He never left any voice mails but Alasdair could guess what he wanted to say. He was probably angry at him, asking what the hell was wrong with him.

A sigh escaped his lips and he stood up, leaving the phone on the coffee table to wander in the apartment. He silently opened Arthur's bedroom's door, taking a peek inside. He wasn't moving. He entered and approached the bed, knowing that it didn't mean his little brother was sleeping. But his emerald green eyes were closed and he breathed evenly. Asleep. He got out of the room, closing the door behind him, and went back on the couch. His hand searched blindly for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. A fag between the lips, his eyes wandered on the flickering flame of the lighter for a second before lighting his cigarette, taking a deep drag and exhaling in an exhausted sigh. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

He had left Paris, his love and his friends only three months ago but it already felt like an eternity.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter ! Not a lot of informations, I know. Feel free to take a few wild guesses at what happened, you'll soon have the answer !

Have a good day !


	2. Chapter 2

The author's rambling : Hello everybody ! Here's the second chapter !

You may have noticed that I changed the title. Well, "fucking" was maybe not really appropriate for a title so I replaced it with one of his minced oath, frigging.

Before you begin your reading, let me give you a few names to help you !

Alasdair : Obviously Scotland

Francine : Obviously nyo! France

Arthur : Well, England

Owen : Wales

Siobhan : Republic of Ireland

Seamus : Northern Ireland

William : New-Zealand

Once again, I tried my best but tell me if I made any grammatical mistake ! Enjoy your reading !

* * *

"Mornin' sunshine ! Time tae wake up !"

Alasdair pulled open the curtains, letting the sunlight invade Arthur's bedroom. The blond groaned as he slowly woke up, making his older brother smile. That was one of the rare sounds he managed to get from him and he decided to enjoy it.

"Owen is visiting, tonight ! William will probably be with him. Ye remember who William is ?"

He approached the bed and pulled the wheelchair next to it. His brother's eyes were open, showing that he was awake, and he was staring at nothing in particular, not even giving him a glance when he asked him something. The redhead couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

"No, of course no ye don't, ye don't even fucking remember me, I don't see why ye would remember William. Come here, ye bawhead."

Slipping his hands under Arthur's armpits, he lifted him to get him out of under the covers and sat him down against the bed's headboard, balancing him carefully so he wouldn't fall on one side or the other. He muttered a "Don't move." as he headed towards the closet, rummaging through it to find some clothes. "Don't move", aye, as if he would. He didn't since the accident. He didn't talk either. He didn't even look at anyone in the eyes. As if his soul left for Heaven but forgot to switch off his body before, letting it breathe, eat and sleep.

Alasdair came back to the bed and, indeed, the blond didn't move an inch. He took off his pyjamas and started dressing him up, grumbling at his shirt's buttons. Putting clothes on someone who has absolutely no intention of helping you with it was a real pain in the ass.

"Lift yer leg, for fuck's sake..." he cursed under his breath as he tried to slip on Arthur's pants.

He decided to add this to his already long list of reasons why everybody should wear kilts. At least, if you're in a coma or some sort of awaken coma, people don't have to struggle to dress you up. Two socks later, Alasdair stepped back to admire his work, making sure he didn't forget anything. Sometimes he would put his brother's clothes inside out or back to front. And he could only imagine the 19 years old blond scowling mentally at him and insulting him. Another sigh escaped his lips and he ran his freckled hand through the bush of blond hair tenderly.

He glanced at his watch. Owen and his husband wouldn't be here before another hour, which gave him enough time to eat breakfast and make Arthur eat his. Hating the eternal silence that filled the apartment whenever he wasn't talking, he switched on the radio, humming along AC/DC as he moved his little brother in the wheelchair and pushed him into the living-room. Their apartment wasn't really big but it was way better than the microscopic box he lived in when he was in France. Two bedrooms, one for Arthur and one for him, even if he tended to fall asleep on the couch while watching series, a bathroom for two and a rather large (for an apartment) living-room including a kitchen. Owen paid for it since he would never have the means to rent it, even if he tried to get a job, as he still had two years of studies to complete. Sometimes he felt bad about it, not liking to be dependent on someone else, but it was part of their agreement, after all. The older of them all, and the most comfortable financially speaking, paid for their needs. The second older, Siobhan, took care of all the paperwork ensuing from the accident. She also took care of the lawsuit. And he, Alasdair, took care of Arthur physically. The younger, Seamus, offered his help too but what could a 18 years old who just began his studies do ? And he couldn't move and continue his studies somewhere else like him since he had been accepted in a very selective school in Ireland.

"What do ye want ? Ye can choose between... Hm... Blended baked beans, blended potatoes or stewed apple if ye'd prefer something sweet."

No answer, of course. Like always.

"Stewed apple it is, then." he replied to himself.

He should probably consider Owen's latest suggestion: to wit, fixing an appointment with a psychologist. Living with someone who wasn't even mentally there was a severe strain on his mental health.

Alasdair tried to find a bit of comfort in TNT's furious guitar chords as he cooked some scrambled eggs to himself. At least he was becoming better and better with cooking now that he couldn't run away from his kitchen to beg Francine to cook for him. At some point, she even forbid him to approach a pan ever again. It probably had to do with the fact that he managed to burn a steak on one side and keep it raw on the other.

Apparently, his "What do ye mean by "turning the steak over" ?" replying to her "Did you forget to turn the steak over ?" wasn't the smartest thing he ever said in front of her.

Francine... Would she call him again, today ? Half of his brain hoped so, longing to hear her voice again. The other half of his brain was a responsible person who realized how selfish of him it was to desire such things. She had to move on. And she would, one day or another. The sooner, the better.

He probably had to move on too.

Yeah, he had to do it. One day... Or another.

"I think these are the best goddamned scrambled eggs I ever cooked in my life." he commented as he placed them in his plate.

That is to say, they seemed edible. Alasdair ate his eggs while waiting for Arthur's stewed apple to heat in the microwave, drumming with his fingers on the table in rhythm with the music.  
The microwave's ring brought him out of his thoughts and he got up to grab the bowl and a spoon, sitting back down in front of his brother.

"No throwing up today, okay ?" he asked while putting a tea towel on Arthur's chest so he wouldn't stain his shirt if he spat out his food. It happened from time to time. Instead of swallowing, he would just let everything fall off his mouth.

For once, everything went well. His little brother would open his mouth whenever he felt the spoon poking his lips and swallowed right after. He would never complain and Alasdair was convinced that he could make him eat slugs without any problem. At least it was better than at the very beginning. When he was still in the hospital, he wouldn't eat at all and needed to be on a drip. And even when the redhead started taking care of him, he had to force his jaw in a few chewing movements for each mouthful so his brain would realize that he had to swallow.

"I will switch on the TV for ye while I'm washing the dishes." he stated, pushing the wheelchair in front of the device.

He switched off the radio so the music wouldn't disturb whatever was playing on the TV. He glanced at it. The news. Well, it would do for Arthur.

* * *

"Come in, ye two, don't stay at the doorstep ! What the hell happened tae yer hair, Owen ?"

"Same as usual. I woke up."

Alasdair laughed and messed Owen's hair up even more. The laws of physics didn't apply to these messy auburn curls.

"How are ye ? Did ye watch the Aussies' game, yesterday ? Lad, they're in Olympic form !"

Owen whimpered loudly, which was always a funny thing to witness considering he was a 6'3'' tall rugby player.

"Don't even talk about it, they will crush us ! I swear to god I'm not going to get out alive of this game ! And in three weeks we are going to play against New-Zealand !"

William, his little blond of a husband, patted his back tenderly and grinned to him.

"I'm sure you can beat the Aussies. Well, probably not the All Blacks but..."

"Thanks for the support, Will'..."

People said success and celebrity changed a man but it didn't apply to Owen. Nine months ago, a few days before Arthur's accident, he was told that he had been selected to play for Wales' national rugby team, being born here, which was his dream for as long as Alasdair could remember. Even in his first memories, he could see the huge posters in his big brother's bedroom and the young Owen trying to rugby tackle their father whenever he had the occasion. But even after playing several games in front of the whole world, he remained his shy and utterly kind self, always caring for others and blushing at everything. The same could be said for William. The New-Zealander was a successful fantasy novels writer and yet there wasn't an ounce of edginess or arrogance in him.

"Make yerself at home, I will bring beer." he suggested as he headed towards the fridge.

The older of the family soon spotted Arthur in his wheelchair and approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and trying to make eye contact with him.

"How are you doing, little man ?" he asked softly.

The silence was his only reply and he smiled sadly before messing up his little brother's hair.

"Hurry up and come back with us, family dinners are boring when you aren't here to fight with Alasdair."

The phone suddenly broke the silence by ringing loudly, making Alasdair curse.

"Owen, take the call for me, I spilled beer all over my hands ! It's probably the doctor, he told me he would call in the beginning of the afternoon !"

The auburn haired man nodded and picked up, bringing the phone to his ear. But it wasn't the doctor.

"Alasdair ?!" the easily recognizable voice, with its French accent, asked.

A smile stretched Owen's lips.

"Sorry Francine, try again. It's Owen. How are you doing ?"

"Ah, Owen... Uh, I'm fine, and you ?"

Owen replied as he leaned against the table. He took a liking in Alasdair's girlfriend since day one, and even before that when his little brother would tell him about her and his attempts to seduce her. She was kind, well-mannered, beautiful, serious when it was needed and on her way to a good career if she kept studying hard. He couldn't have asked for a better woman for someone like the redhead.

"Is Alasdair here ?"

"Ah, yes, he's in the kitchen, wait a second." he covered the phone with his hand so he wouldn't hurt her ears by yelling in it. "Al' ! Francine on the phone !"

Alasdair froze midway through wiping his hands with the tea towel, now regretting he didn't tell Owen about the situation his relationship with Francine was in. He sighed when his brother handed him the phone and took it.

"Thanks." he mumbled before hanging up and putting the electronic device away.

"...Alasdair ?"

Owen blinked in disbelief, staring at him as tried to understand what the hell just happened. Why would Alasdair hang up on his girlfriend like that ?

"Did something happ..."

"We aren't together anymore."

"But..."

"And if she calls ye, please, don't pick up."

"...Why ?"

He studied his brother's face. He didn't look angry. Only... Sad. The redhead averted his eyes and shrugged.

"It's for the best. I will explain it tae ye, I promise. For now..." he sighed. "Could ye give me that psychologist's number again ?"

* * *

Thanks for reading ! Do not hesitate to leave a review if you enjoyed this chapter, it's really motivating !

Have a good day !


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